RETURN TO VO-METRU

The crackling thunder of the static dischargers echoed across vast green distance. The air was heavy with the smell of ozone. In the valley below, Vo-Metru was a crystal lattice, pulsing at the center of crisscrossing leylines.

She had only returned there one other time after the transformation. Her duties had kept her busy in other lands, fighting . . . protecting . . . enforcing the will of the Great Spirit. But for a time, early on, she had thought that some day . . . maybe . . . she could go back.

“That’s not how it works, Chiara.” The Turaga chuckled. “The path you are on now takes you away from the mundane workings of our city. It is a great honor to be so elevated; to become greater than you were! Is it not?”

“It is an honor,” she said dryly.

“And anyways, your labors here were inconsequential compared to what you have now accomplished. We have heard good things about your work in the East and West. Lonely missions, to be sure, but vital to the health of the world—and from one so newly elevated! You make Vo-Metru proud.”

“Glad to hear it, Turaga.”

“I foresee only greater success in future.” The Turaga smiled, tapping the forehead of her mask.

“And I should know, should I not?”

*  *  *  *  *  *

Chiara fell heavily against hard stone as her legs gave way. The thick metal doors slammed shut behind her and sealed at her command. It would not hold the thing for long, she suspected. Her concentration was already ebbing—it was an effort to keep the systems of the lab in lockdown. She would not be able to maintain her hold on the electrical mechanisms much longer.

She pulled her legs up and tried to stand. Something clattered on the ground beneath her, and she sickened at the realization: It had touched her, back there in the annex. The process was beginning . . . just like Orde. Her legs . . .

She began to crawl forward, dragging herself along the smooth floor as fast as possible, toward the door at the other end of the hall. Quickly now.

An immense sound rolled through the air as she struggled—the sound of metal rending and buckling, blunting against a gigantic fist. The lights in the corridor flickered and she almost lost her grip, but they did not go out.

Again the sound of impact smashed against her ears. Boom. She glanced backward. The door was wrinkling like cloth behind her. She heaved forward and reached the door on the other end of the hallway. It was still sealed, and she was too weary to exert enough control to open it while keeping the other locked. Out of options. Out of time.

Boom. She sat with her back against the door, noted the likely discharge points down the corridor: the power lines affixed to the left wall, ten or so light fixtures, a sensor or weapons-port of some kind on the right, the servos of the door itself. It would have to be enough.

Boom. The door buckled further. Aim for the eye, Chiara.

Boom.

She furrowed her brow.

Boom. Now, on the drawback.

The door lurched open at her command, and the titan called Marendar staggered through the opening, striking sparks on the metal frame as its fist struck empty air. The lights went out, leaving only its red eye glowing in the darkness. Chiara heaved forward, hand pointing at her opponent, every last reserve of elemental strength thrown into the effort. 

Lightning poured from every surface around the target. Power lines ruptured and exploded in fiery sparks as the lab’s generators overloaded. The corridor filled with white-hot arcs of discharging electricity, all under Chiara’s control, all aimed at that one red point . . .

*  *  *  *  *  *

“What are you doing here?” the supervisor asked.

“Hello to you too, Laaha.”

“Oh, uh . . . well . . . yes, hello Toa Chiara. What can I do for you? Did the Turaga send you?”

“No, I came on my own. I thought I would just stop by to see if you’re all doing alright. It’s been some time.”

“Ah. Yes, doing fine. All working and accounted for, as you can see.”

Laaha gestured toward the other Matoran working on the power conversion line. Chiara realized that she didn’t recognize any of them.

“That’s good to hear. Where are Keeya and Roghi and the others? Are they on rest today? I had hoped to see them.”

“Oh, no, no. They were . . . uh . . . reassigned, you see.”

“Reassigned? Why?”

“That’s how things go. Better work for them elsewhere, you know . . .”

“They were multi-centenarians at this station, Laaha. Just like you and me. They wouldn’t be reassigned without good reason.”

“Well . . . it’s not for me to question, I guess.”

“Laaha—”

“I really shouldn’t—”

“Tell me what happened.”

There was a long silence. The sound of the conversion station filled the air. The other Matoran politely ignored Chiara.

“It was . . . it was Keeya at first—wouldn’t stop talking about what had happened to you. Elevation to Toa and all that. She got all . . . imaginative about it. Too imaginative.”

“What does that mean?”

Laaha dropped her voice lower: “Well, if you could become a Toa, why not any of us? That’s what she said. Roghi started to talk too. Pretty soon, they weren’t . . . well . . . They weren’t satisfied with ‘Matoran work’.”

“Matoran work . . .”

“Yeah, you see my problem, Chiara? That kinda talk is—”

“I get it, Laaha. I get it. And the Turaga reassigned them?”

“Yes. You’ve gotta realize . . . it’s not that uncommon when a Matoran is chosen. Some people can’t handle it. Makes them think too big.”

Chiara gave Laaha a long, scrutinizing look. She opened her mouth to say something.

“Excuse me, honored Toa, but may I have a word?”

The voice came from behind her. She turned. Another Matoran supervisor. There was visible relief in Laaha’s eyes.

“I trust you have found our power conversion station to be running at top capacity, yes?”

Chiara shook herself. “Yes, excellent work . . . both of you.”

“That is good. And now, I mean no disrespect, but ‘time is energy’ as the saying in Vo-Metru goes. Don’t you have better things to do? Hero things?”

“Not at the moment.”

“Well . . . again I mean no disrespect, but I dare say with your height and size you are somewhat getting in the way. In fact, the electrical field you generate is throwing off some of our calibrations.”

“Ah, my mistake.”

“Yes, I’m sorry, Toa Chiara, but I’m going to have to ask you to move along. This is Matoran work, after all. Not worth your attention.”

“Very well, goodbye. And goodbye to you, Laaha.”

“Goodbye, Toa.”

*  *  *  *  *  *

It was nearly pitch black, now that the power reserves of the lab had been burnt out. Chiara scuttled backward through the now-open doorway. She could hear the titan moving in the rubble a few bio away, already recovering from the electrical blast, in all likelihood.

She slipped and sprawled on her back in the darkness, tried to raise herself up again. Another wave of sickness. Her left arm was now gone as well, disassembled into its component parts. Curse that thing.

Still she struggled on. Her remaining arm began to burn with the effort of dragging her body, slowly, down the endless corridor. It was almost pointless, wasn’t it? She would never make it back to the entrance-silo in her condition, much less be able to drag herself up the winding stairs. She could only hope that Gelu or Zaria had managed to escape and could somehow send a message south. The message would be grim, whatever it said. Orde’s last words echoed in her mind:

The Great Beings will not help us. We are on our own.

Movement in the dark. The titan was very stealthy for its size and bulk. There was no reason for stealth though, at this point: She was spent. She could move no further. The red light approached.

“You,” she said quietly as the hunter drew nearer. “You are like we were, long ago, aren’t you?”

It seemed silly, talking to the thing, but there was nothing else for her to do.

“I don’t remember so well anymore,” she continued, speaking raspily to the darkness, “but we used to live only for . . . for finishing the task. Following the rules, you know? Thinking about nothing else. You—you’re like that, aren’t you? They made you that way.”

Red light fell upon her at last, and a giant hand gripped her shoulder, lifting her from the floor. For a split second she saw that the maw which formed the center of the titan’s chest had unhinged itself, widening to consume her, just like it had Orde. She did not scream.

But then . . . nothing happened. She hung suspended, and the great eye regarded her passively. There was no malice—no rage or triumph—only grim efficiency and determination . . .

And maybe something else. Something that said . . . Say what you have to say.

“You’re . . . You’re supposed to hunt and kill Toa, right?” she said haltingly. “That’s what Orde told us, before you . . .”

The eye stared. She stared back.

“Well, if you’re wondering, I certainly didn’t ask to be a Toa,” she said. “I would’ve happily spent my days doing my work, small and insignificant. Matoran work they called it, like it was all that bad . . .”

No change. But still . . . this was different.

“I suppose greater powers had other plans for me. That’s how it always is, isn’t it? Does that matter to you? Do you care?”

Nothing.

“Well,” she continued, almost laughing, “seems the Great Beings don’t care about me anymore, even after all my Toa work . . . in the service of them or Mata Nui or whoever. And you know what I think? I think that means they won’t care about you either, once your task is done.”

There was a creak of metal. The titan’s grip on her shifted. Chiara breathed in.

“And if you don’t believe me, titan, monster, Marendar—whatever your name is—then finish your task already . . .”

The red eye withdrew its gaze from her. She readied herself. Green distance, and the smell of ozone.

“. . . and you’ll find out sooner rather than later.”

This work can also be found on the author's tumblr, see here.